


your time will come (if you wait for it)

by theowlinsomniac



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, but it came off a little more romantic than planned, so take it however you want!, this was supposed to be platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-09 00:32:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4327017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theowlinsomniac/pseuds/theowlinsomniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he laughs at himself as the conversation goes. he’s incredibly comfortable, despite the way her hip digs into his side and her shoulder feels a little hard against his bicep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your time will come (if you wait for it)

    Her laugh is melodic where his is rough and hard, cutting through the warm air that teases gently at their skin in the middle of the crowded, smokey bar.

    They sit impossibly close after the rest of the gang is gone. He noted her hesitant, concerned stare at Mustang who wobbled off to get a taxi about an hour ago. They were celebrating –  _happy_. Jean had just gotten his legs back, and Roy his freedom. ( a topic of much heartache and agony, though, was the caterpillar on his lip. none of the now-broken up team seemed to remotely like it, not even Riza who generally left her criticisms unspoken )   
  
      Riza’s hands are loose around her glass of scotch. She drank anything like it was a smooth glass of wine, like it was water on a sunny day. He thought it was funny, how he probably looked like a pirate next to her, downing his drinks and smacking his lips. She smiles every time he does that, though. and he laughs at himself as the conversation goes. He’s incredibly comfortable, despite the way her hip digs into his side and her shoulder feels a little hard against his bicep.   
  
      Her cheeks look warm, the scarf on her neck still wrapped tightly around her, hours after she’d arrived. She hadn’t let any of them take her coat off– she’d done it herself, but kept the accessory. It made her eyes look great, not that they already didn’t look great, just… better.   
  
      His own attire did not go unnoticed by her. She’d commented that he looked ‘spiffy’ outside his work uniform. That he looked cute, even. It wasn’t really a compliment, though. She’d pinched his cheeks and huffed afterwards, turning to her Colonel and Breda, punching their shoulders for giving her a hard time about her skirt. And he’d watched, a warm feeling in his chest and a giddy laughter in his throat.   
  
      Now it was just the two of them, and before long, he did what any gentlemen would do. He helped her put her coat on ( after the bill was paid – she’d offered to pay for his drinks, but he insisted he’d had too many to let her foot the bill ) and told her he’d walk her home. Much to his surprise, she agreed, and since her apartment was only a few blocks away, the walk wouldn’t be hard on him. His hotel was only a block in the opposite direction, so he was unbothered by the trek.   
  
      And they walk, sleeves brushing every so often as they continued their  conversation with ease. The words spilled out of their mouths and onto the pavement, into each other’s ears to fill the night streets with joy. She bumps into him, but doesn’t apologize. It’s funny to him, because it didn’t seem like something she’d do. So he does it back, and when she almost stumbles they both begin to laugh, laugh so hard they think they'll be yelled at by the residents on this street.   
  
      “I don’t understand why you say you have such a hard time with women,” she comments after their words quiet and the world starts to dampen their laughter, “you seem to be doing so well with  _me_.”   
  
      His smile turns to pursed lips, and he shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Well I’m always with Mustang,” he replies, “and he’s always been so…  **good**.” then he starts to chuckle, “So I get left in the dust. And you don’t really count.” he says, and she stops in her tracks beside him.   
  
      He stops too, but only because she’s still standing there, staring up at him. She places her fists on her hips in mock anger, quirking a brow at him from below. “I don’t count? I’m a woman, aren’t I? A good-looking one too, at that.” she says, and immediately starts to snicker through her mocking expression.   
  
      His eyes blow wide open and he steps back, almost falling off the curb, “No! I mean– yes you’re a woman– a really, really  **hot**  one– and you’re really funny– and I’m not– you count but not like– you’re  _Hawkeye_  and I’m–” His stuttering gets progressively worse until they both fall silent. He huffs and reaches up to rub the back of his neck with a shrug. “See what I mean?”   
  
      And she laughs her melodious laugh, hand reaching up to touch his arm lightly. “You’re doing fine.” she breathes, and starts to walk again, her own hands tucked neatly in her coat pockets. He stands, almost shell-shocked, the place where she touched his arm burning under all those layers, and he starts to follow her again. He has to jog for a good few yards to catch up. When he does, though, and they fall into their silent rhythm, he smiles.   
  
      “I like you, Hawkeye.” he says with a laugh. He looks to her to see her eyes staring straight ahead, lips tilted in an expression of satisfaction.   
  
      “You think I’m hot.” she says through her wolfish smirk, and glances up at him. He scoffs, starting to laugh again.   
  
      “You  _asshole._ ” he says ( and it’s so lighthearted she doesn’t even scold him for his language ), and she starts to jog, looking back over her shoulder playfully.   
  
      “You said it first!” she says, and takes off running. He thinks this is what it would have been like for Mustang, when they were young. ( he’s never seen this side of her – fun, and excited, childish, and full of mischief ) running, running, and running after her because she’s just one step ahead– even if her legs are shorter and you think she isn’t even on the same page as you. He thinks this is the beginning of a friendship– something they never got to have. ( two souls and a whole lot of blue polyester in between ) He grunts, but it’s all fun and games.   
  
      And he starts to chase her, thankful that he has another chance to put his legs to use. 


End file.
